Insignificant Details
by Argentine Rose
Summary: AU fic with a crappy title. Javert finds himself saddled with Cosette in 1820 - how will this affect the unfolding of events in M-SUR-M? Could get a bit mushy - but might not (depends which side of evil I'm on)edging closer to the end
1. Out with the old: New Year 1820

Everyone, everywhere, everyday makes thousands of choices, each with many possible outcomes. This has lead many wise people to suppose that there exist many different parallel universes, each of them different from the next only in that someone, somewhere made an opposite decision to the one they made here.  
For a little girl named Cosette destiny was decided, as Hugo describes it, by that fact that one Madame Thenardier chose to sit rather than stand. What would have happened if she stood? What would have happened if Fantine's travel arrangements had bypassed Montfermiel entirely? I don't know and certainly neither the story Hugo wrote nor the one I am about to tell will enlighten you. However, my story does concern changed fates, Cosette, and travel arrangements - the travel arrangements of a man named Javert, who may be familiar to you.

The inn had a blazing fire and therefore was pleasing. The keenness of the wind and squalling rain, the darkness of the night and the chill of early January ensured it that allure. Also, since Montfermiel was a small town, there was nowhere else for travellers to go, and nothing else for locals to do. This was unfortunate since 'The Sergeant of Waterloo' was, in plain terms, foul. Most of the locals failed to notice this and most of the travellers who arrived in the town were far too gone to care. Yet three members of the present company of 2nd January 1820 were not fooled - a visitor, a local and a resident.  
There was only one stranger at The Sergeant that night, a tall imposing man who had jumped down from his seat next to the driver of that evening's diligence and made straight for the inn. He had then shook himself like a dog and slumped into the warmest seat next to the fire. To a casual observer, such as the schoolmaster Gassiot, their visitor looked happy. It was the happiness of a man who had finished a day's travelling and had managed to secure the best in the tavern. Such a front Javert presented to the observing world. He was, in fact, far from happy. His was the irritation of a man who is wearied from a day's travelling, soaked through to his shirt, whose extremities are blue and without feeling and who is quickly developing a morbid fear of gangrene, and who knows he has nothing to look forward to in the immediate future but bad food and a flea infested bed. Javert reached down to the small bag beside his chair, hoping to find his newspaper or the novel he had been reading. He laid his hand upon something sodden, spongy and wholly unpleasant - instinctively his hand recoiled and he pulled a face. The revolting object turned out to be his newspaper. That afternoons driving rain had found its way into his bag and caused the print to run like a horse under the lash. Next he retrieved his novel, equally drenched, the pages wavy and stuck together - utterly unreadable. Holding his copy of _Emma _between thumb and forefinger with a mixed expression of disappointment and disgust Javert tossed it into the fire 'I was almost enjoying that too', he mused ruefully.  
Miss Austen's masterpiece disdained to catch fire, electing instead to smoulder slightly then roll back out of the fire to land at Javert's feet. He felt the sudden overwhelming urge to kick something in the manner of a spoilt and overtired two year-old. Why had he agreed to come? He hated the cold for one thing - for such a robust man his circulation was surprisingly poor. Not only that, but he had spent possible the most miserable period of his childhood in the north. After his mother had died he had wound up working in a tavern very much like this one. He cast a disdainful eye over the squalid, dingy establishment. - he could think of a thousand places he'd rather be, probably even if he confined himself to things beginning with the same letter he could come up with a good three-hundred. _'Just like Mere Roland's. Could well be he same place', _came a voice in his head laced with just too much self-pity to be acceptable _.'No, no it couldn't'_, he snapped backat himself, annoyed at the recalcitrant part of his brain that did not have proper respect for leagues of distance, decades of time or any othersolid reason why 'The Seargeant of Waterloo' and 'A La Belle Etoile' were not remotely connected in any logical, and therefore constructive, way. He was irritated by his own moment of sentimentality, even more so than by his tiredness and physical discomfort. And the fact that these petty, trivial things should still have power to discompose him was a further irritation Absorbed in these meditations Javert's eye fell on a little girl of four or five. Sentiment and exhaustion triumphed and he watched transfixed in despite of himself.  
The child was skinny, dressed in rags and sweeping with a broom taller than herself whilst peering at the world through her hair with watchful eyes.

"You are looking at The Lark, M'sieur?" Javert started at the voice and turned to see who had interrupted him. He had been joined by a pale old man who looked like the ghost of a spider. It was the Gassiot who had been emboldened to approach the stranger by the prospect of intelligent conversation or, at least, a new and unheard set of idiocies.  
"I beg your pardon M'sieur. I saw you alone and thought that, as a stranger, you might like company. My name is Edouard Gassiot - I keep the school in Montfermiel. I'm not troubling you am I?"

Javert regarded the man for a few moments in much the manner of a village idiot before replying, at a loss as to what else to say, "Not at all, you're most welcome."

"You're not a northerner, are you sir?" said Gassiot, taking in Javert's tanned skin and soft, nasal accent.

"Actually I was born in Calais, but I've lived in the South for a long time."

"Forgive me, but what business brings you to Montfermiel?"

"I'm with the police. I've been posted to a town near Arras - Montreuil-sur-Mer. Do you know it? Oh, and you must forgive me for not introducing myself - Inspector Javert, newly of the Pas de Calais Prefecture." He had forgotten just how nosy people were in the provinces. The two men fell silent for a few moments. Javert returned to watching the girl who was now clearing dishes from the tables.  
"Why is the child called The Lark, Monsieur?" Javert asked idly, more to revive the conversation than out of any burning interest.

"Because she gets up at dawn and prefers to keep out of peoples' way. Her right name is Cosette."

"She is the innkeeper's daughter I suppose?"

"Oh no, no no! You see that pretty child there with the plaits and fur mittens? That is Thenardier's eldest daughter."

This fact aroused Javert's curiosity.

"And Cosette"

"A stray. Madame Thenardier always maintains that they took her in out of the kindness of their hearts when her mother abandoned her, but that's just not true. She promised the mother, a young working woman, to look after her in exchange for payment. The poor girl pays handsomely for the privilege and the Thenardiers get a slave labourer. Bah!"

"I see." Javert now slipped seamlessly into interrogation mode, garnering from Gassiot details of Thenardier's mistreatment of the child, his swindling of the mother as well as his less than legal business dealings and tax record. All of which required minimal effort on Javert's part since Gassiot was more than willing to talk - being both naturally loquacious and delighted and having a opportunity to put one over Thenardier, who tried to short-change the old man every day.  
Needless to say that Javert's already jaundiced view of the Thenardiers was not biased further in their favour. He was seriously considering writing a report to the head of the Departement's revenue office.

"Oye, Gassiot! Are you gonna come here an' eat your stew?", hollered the landlord's burly wife.

"I'll take it over here Madame", replied Gassiot with deliberate meekness.

"Cosette, take this over there", she said, thrusting the bowl into the child's hands. The little girl crossed the floor with deliberately slow steps so as not to spill a drop. She had almost made it when Madame Thenardier, rushing through to drag the cat away from the supper of a customer who had gone outside to relieve himself, slammed a bulky hip into the child.. Cosette lost her balance completely, landing sprawled on the floor. The stew and its bowl landed on Javert. Madame Thenardier grabbed the child immediately, launching into a furious volley of abuse.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph! I'm sorry M'sieur - clumsy, idle little slut! Stupid, good-for-nothing little" - the good woman exhibited considerable physical dexterity by simultaneously walloping the child's face and backside and shaking her - "You did that on purpose Miss Toad. I'll see to it that you can't sit down for a month!"

To a man the customers looked away, paying deliberate attention to their own business. Clearly this was a scene they'd witnessed many times before and had learned by experience that it was safest not to intervene or even seem to be paying too much attention.  
Even years afterwards Javert would be quite unable to account to himself for what had come over him at that moment, all he could remember was that he had been incensed by the blatant unfairness of what he was witnessing. Rising with as much dignity as a man covered in mutton stew can, he stepped forward and caught the woman's arm and said in his most calmly official of tones

"That will do Madame, that will do."

"Begging your pardon M'sieur but what right have you to interfere in how I run my house?" the woman said, the politeness of her words not matching the expression on her face.

"I saw what happened Madame and the fault was yours - this is utterly unnecessary."

The woman looked from Cosette to Javert as if unsure as to which of them she would like to drop dead first and then said in a voice of heavy sarcasm "Well M'sieur, do tell me how I am to punish the idle little bitch, for I'm dying t'hear. Took the hussy in out of the kindness of my heart and see what thanks I get!"

"What? Out of the kindness of your what? Your heart did you say? That's rich! I've never heard such brazen lies in twenty years of police work! The kindness of your heart indeed - more like out of kindness to your pocket!"

The woman looked a little taken a-back. Someone sitting in the far corner sniggered.

"M'sieur - "

"I've a good mind to report you for cruelty, extortion and, while we're flinging mud, tax fraud," Javert fumed with a glance in the direction of Gassiot.

"Why you bastard of a bleeding hearted do-gooder!"

The woman looked for all the world as if she was going to smack Javert full in the face. He was momentarily taken aback by this (and by being addressed as a 'bleeding hearted do-gooder') until he realised that a woman who could beat a five year-old in front of an inn full of people without scruple would have no qualms about striking a grown man. However, the woman merely continued on her rant,

"Yeah, it's all very well for you, poncy rich bastard, coming in here telling me how to run my life. If you're so bloody concerned about the child them you bloody have her mate! Take her, look after the little slut - only get her outta my sight before I kill her!"

Javert stepped back as if the woman really had slapped him. Acquiring a child was no part of his plans, and yet he had gone too far to turn back. The entire pub was now staring at them and all the stubbornness of Javert's dogged nature would not let him lose the argument to this vile woman. There was really only one honourable thing he could say. Lowering him eyes and speaking with an authority he did not feel he said,

"I leave at four-thirty tomorrow morning. You will kindly have the child and her belongs ready to depart ten minutes beforehand."


	2. La Cendrillon and other fables

Cosette woke with a start. She had been sleeping heavily and had overslept. It must be quite late, she had not done her chores and now Madame would beat her for her laziness. She was in such a panic that she did not notice the unaccustomed motion of the coach at first, all she knew was that she was still in bed even though her chores were not done and that she would be beaten for it. She also had a dim, uneasy recollection that something had happened the night before - had she upset one of the customers? - and that Madame had not been best pleased about it. If so she would not be in a good mood this morning.  
It was then that she noticed something unusual - she was warm. Cosette was never warm in winter no matter how small she curled herself up. Not only was she warm but there was a strange jolting movement beneath her - how could this be?  
Cosette put her head out from beneath the blanket - not her tattered filthy rag but a fine, warm woollen cloth. She opened her eyes. She was in a coach! At first the excitement of this almost took her breath away - she had never ridden in a coach before. Nor had 'Ponine and 'Zelma and the were fine ladies - Madame had said so. Then, on the other side of the seat she was lying on, she noticed a figure looking out the window. It was the m'sieur from the night before, the one she had covered in stew. So - she had not imagined it! He really had said to Madame that he would take her. Cosette drew a sharp little intake of breath.The man leaned towards her.

"So, you're awake then." he said, his face twitching in an ironic almost smile. Neither his expression nor his tone were altogether reassuring. Cosette was too surprised to answer, she simply sat up further.  
"How do you feel?" the man continued stiffly, "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, M'sieur. We're not in Montfermiel are we?"

"No child"

Cosette's mind raced. Why had this man taken her, Madame alwaystold herthat she was so worthless not even her own mother had wanted her. Could it be that she had changed her mind and sent this man to fetch her. Cosette had never had a family like the other children and hitherto she had accepted this as natural, but now . . .She decided to hazard a question.

"M'sieur, are you - are you my father?"

"No child"

"Are you going to take me to my mum sir?"

"I don't know" said the man, gazing back out the window.

"Are you going to take me back to Madame then?"

"Certainly not" he said emphatically, "I can promise you that."

His vehemence both surprised and reassured Cosette. She began her questions again.  
"If you're not my father then are you my . ..Can I call you grandpapa?"

"My name is Monsieur Javert and that is what you may call me." He paused for a beat and then continued, speaking seemingly more to himself than to Cosette, "In perfect honesty I have no idea what I am going to do with you. I do not know your mother, but I will try to find the woman. Until then - or until alternative, more appropriate, arrangements can be made - you will have to remain with me. Yes, that's it. Get the next few weeks in Montreuil over with then we'll decide about you."

Cosette had never seen this man before but instinctively she trusted him. He seemed stern and harsh, yet he treated her with more kindness than she had ever been shown before. Most importantly, he had saved her from Madame and Monsieur, from the inn and cold and ashes and she would never have to go back there again.  
Cosette flung her arms about the man's neck. Javert was greatly taken aback, totally at a loss. He did not move his arms to embrace the child, but she did not seem to notice

At about seven in the evening the diligence stopped in St Dominique du Bois as it always did. It would stop there for about an hour and a half to change horses and give the passengers a chance to recuperate from a day of fast travel over bumpy rounds.  
Anyone who had watched the passengers leaving the coach on the particular evening would have seen a tall, well dressed man in his forties lifted down a little girl of about five, the squalor of whose appearance contrasted strongly with the smartness of his own.  
Paquette Medaud, who kept the tavern in St Dominique, watched the arrival of the coach and noted the strange pair with disapproval. The child was skinny and plainly very cold - she hadn't raised four strapping sons herself not to recognised a child that was sickening for something when she saw one.  
The man strode into the inn, removed his had and splendid greatcoat to reveal an equally splendid grey topcoat.  
_'Arrogant pig'_, Paquette thought, pursing her lips and leading the pair to a table, deliberately selecting one close to the fire.

"What will Monsieur take?"

"Some wine and a slice of bread and cheese thank you Madame."

"And for your little one?" she said pointedly

"Cosette, " said the stranger with a softness that surprised her, "what would you like to eat?" The child looked confused and widened her eyes "What do you normally have at home?" the man prompted.

"What Madame says no-one else wants."

"Well now I'm asking you what you want."

Againthe childlooked confused.

"I, I don't know M'sieur."

At a loss, Javert turned his attention to the innkeeper, "Madame, what do you recommend for a little girl who has had no breakfast?"

"Warm milk, some soup and bread and, perhaps, a palmier."

"Very well," said the man. Paquette had half expected him to complain of the expense. She walked off shaking her head: this was very odd indeed andshe couldn't quite fathomit. Shesuposed that she ought to be worried, really, but there was somethingin the tall fellow's manner that allayed her fear, a sort ofsimplicity that rather disarmed her.  
When it came Cosette wolfed the food down as if she had never seen so much together in one place. Javert noted with displeasure the state of her table manner - much worse even than his own. Sighing, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the child's top lip clean of milk

"M'sieur, will you tell me a story?"

"I don't know any stories." This was not strictly true. Javert was, in fact, a born raconteur who had kept his fellow guards at Toulon endlessly entertained. It was just that most of his stories were not really for the ears of children, and that his strange, candid little audience rather mad him panic. He looked around the tavern in desperation as if hoping to find a tale chalked up along with the menu and bar prices.  
Then a woman's voice whispered in his ear, "La Fontaine, Sir. I find the fables are always the best place to start."  
Javert gave the innkeeper a look of extreme gratitude and began, soon finding his rhythm


	3. First Impressions

He had seen him before, he was certain of that. Even before seeing him had had his suspicions - hardly a common name, Javert. He had been younger the first time, gaucher, black haired and with a less painful southern accent. He had also not had a child nor shown any signs of ever having one. But that was nearly twenty years ago now, and a lot could happen to a man in twenty years - surely he himself was proof of that. Had the new Inspector of Police felt the same stirrings of recognition, he wondered. Or maybe he was simply being ridiculous. Madeleine chuckled softly to himself, uncommon name or not there had to be more than one Javert in France.  
Still, he had to see him again and now while his first impression of things was still fresh. Then he would know one way or the other. Madeleine began to prepare himself to go out until his foreman entered the office and informed him that Inspector Javert had come to see the factory as arranged. M Madeleine smiled at the workings of Providence - how could he have forgotten?  
Having been abandoned by the foreman, Javert waited on the factory floor for M Madeleine to appear. The factory seemed prosperous and efficient, as did the rest of the town with its hospital, two schools and old peoples' home. A most happy and fortunate town - and it was all due to M Madeleine. Yet Javert could not bring himself to like or trust this man. He esteemed him as a rich and respectable citizen and the soon to be mayor. He was able to appreciate both his robust business sense and the tremendous service he had rendered the town, but for the man himself he could feel no warmth. There were two reason for this. Firstly, his kindness was of the indiscriminate sort that Javert particularly disliked - he seemed to make no distinction at all between cases that were deserving and those that were not. Secondly, there was something indefinable suspicious about the man. Javert had the nagging feeling that he had seen Madeleine before, and most of the people Javert had seen before were worthy of suspicion  
"Ah, Monsieur L'Inspecteur, delighted to see you"  
"Monsieur Madeleine." Javert bowed deeply.  
The two men began to walk, Madeline explaining the working of the factory and the town itself.  
"This is the woman's workshop where most of the fine work gets done - assembling the clasps, threading the beads and so forth. We separate the sexes for decency's sake and employ mainly local women. They leave their children at the school before coming here to work. What about your little girl - she will be attending our school?"  
"If possible, yes."  
"And the rest of the time? You are going to be a busy man Inspector."  
"Sergeant Jacquemin has four children and his wife has agreed to help me."  
"It must be hard raising a child alone."  
"Yes," Javert said shortly, lowering his eyes. When he raised the again he looked about himself with a sharp, bright, professional air and enquired, "Where do you export the beads to Monsieur Madeleine? Mostly Spain I should imagine."  
_'Poor man'_ thought Madeleine, _' loosing his wife must have been a terrible blow'_. It felt odd to pity this man, a similar feeling to pitying an injured wolf or a shark struggling for breath while suspended in a fisherman's net. For Madeleine was now certain that the man standing before him as the new inspector of police was identical to the young guard who had assisted in his recapture after his first escape attempt form Toulon

As the two men left the women's workshop they were watched closely by a blonde woman, who might once have been pretty, wearing a grey dress that might once have been fine. As Madeleine made comment on the difficulties of raising a child alone the woman moved her hand to her move in an almost convulsive movement, biting on the skin of her knuckles. It was an attempt to stop herself crying out load, _'Hard, yes! But it's a blessing_.' That this man should have a child, a little girl, and care for her all himself! That he should receive sympathy when all she got was contempt! She had grown used to seeing the other women being met by their children at the factory gates, that hardly troubled her at all now. But this had taken her by surprise and Fantine had to raise her hands over her eyes so no-one would see her cry.


	4. Which details three uninteresting years

M Madeleine was as good as his word, Javert was kept a busy man from the moment he commenced hi official duties. This was partly due to the nature of crime in Montrieul - many small and similar incidents occurring in a pattern which Javert himself termed _'one damn thing after another' _- and partly due to the ineptitude of his predecessor, M Taillefer, which had created a huge backlog of things to be dealt with before Javert could implement any system of his own. Indeed, when M Chabouillet had appointed Javert to his post, he had done so with the words "What we really need is someone who's actually going to DO something for a change".  
Obviously this was to have repercussions on the fate of Cosette. Javert had, it is true, began to make inquiries as to the whereabouts of hr mother, but without immediate success. He had also looked into having her placed in the local orphanage. Even this step required a shocking amount of tedious paperwork and his mind was soon distracted by other, more pressing, matters. And yet if he had been instructed to carry out the same task by the state Javert could have resolved the matter in a blink of an eye - why did it now take him so long? Simply that Cosette came into the province of his personal life rather than his public responsibilities, and Javert's personal life was always of last consideration for him. The child was his private responsibility and he saw no earthly reason why he should take be able to take time from his duties to clear up whatever mess he might have made of his private life. This argument held more weight since it did not seem that Cosette's presence interfered with his duties in any noticeable way. What time he did take to devote to the child was better spent in ensuring her to be fed, clean, well-mannered and happy.  
Consequently the papers remained untouched on his desk.  
Javert was also using his rare leisure moments to quite another purpose. Ever since his first meeting with Madeleine he had been increasingly convinced that he had seen him before. He would spend hours pondering over when and where this might have happened. He became surer that his first meeting with Madeleine had not been an innocent one. Everything about Madeleine persuaded him further, even the universal esteem in which he was held. In Javert's view a man that desperate to be beloved certainly wanted to compensate for something and probably had something to hide. He did have a theory - one too audacious to act on without significant proof - so he sat back and waited.  
Never the less, on the day Madeleine was made mayor, was placed in charge of not only him but everyone in the entire district, Javert had to use all his self discipline not to cry wolf. He also admitted to himself that he found Madeleine personally rather irritating and resolved that he would keep well clear of him unless his official duties made it absolutely necessary to do otherwise.  
Thus were the twin occupations of the inspector's private moments. The one he pursued alone, in the other he acquired a formidable ally.  
On his arrival in the town Adele Jacquemin, wife of his sergeant, had promised to help look after Cosette, and she had been better than her word. She offered not only practical help but advice, moral support and, over time, came as close as anyone ever did to being friends with the inspector. Javert, as we have seen, knew nothing about children, Adele Jacquemin knew everything and he deferred to her as his superior. In Javert's eyes Mme Jacquemin was to Cosette as M Chabouillet was to the police. For her part, she was happy to provide a gentle guiding hand whilst accommodating some of the Inspector's more idiosyncratic notions on matters such as discipline.  
Adele was a woman who had been kind from her youth, but who had had to learn to be sensible, and learn the hard way. Intelligent, good-natured and lively, she was a classic example of the woman who is held to have 'thrown herself away' by popular gossip. She had made one mistake in her youth (or possibly two, if you count the pregnancy and marriage separately) and it had become a defining characteristic of hers to not make any more, an attitude especially apparent when dealing with her children. It was this mistake that formed the second pillar of her friendship with Inspector Javert (Cosette being the first). The mistake was, of course, Sergeant Germain Jacquemin, who was the bane of both their lives. Adele had, after sixteen years, adopted the policy of treating her husband as a fifth child - which seemed to work - and could now laugh at all but his most glaring idiocies. Javert had yet to learn to be so sanguine.For Javert, Jacquemin summed up everything that was wrong with Montrieul and his life in it. He was inept, stupid, idle, provincial and boring.  
It was the boredom that afflicted Javert most of all. Despite being chief of police for the region he could almost feel himself going mad with it. He came to regret his promotion and the ambition that made him take it. Command without activity did not suit him. He would have greatly preferred a thousand ever-present and exacting superiors and something to do. It wasn't that nothing ever happened in Montreal - enough happened to keep him occupied with a constant flood of trivia - it was just that nothing important ever happened. Even the criminals weren't the same - he was dealing with the stupid rather than the crafty. For example, towards the end of Javert's first year in M-SUR-M, the wife of a prosperous local doctor was murdered, a cause of great commotion in the town. Within five minutes of beginning his investigation Javert had found a pistol in the tea caddy in the doctor's kitchen, within ten the doctor had sobbingly confessed to everything. This, the Inspector had been solemnly informed, was the most exciting event to happen in Montrieul for ten years. Javert could almost feel his sense of humour evaporating. Command made him arrogant and boredom made him snappish. It also did nothing to abate his growing dislike of M Madeleine. An underused and ironical part of Javert's brain told him that he might be becoming a little too obsessed with M le Maire's secret identity.  
If Javert was bored by the populace of Montrieul, then they were frankly confused by him. Firstly there were his personal eccentricities - his solitary life, Spartan nature, apparent lack of vices. Where had he come from and why was he such a firm favourite with M Chabouillet and the Paris Prefecture? Was he, as was rumoured, a gypsy? Sometimes he spoke like a prince and others like a peasant - just how educated was he? Why was he so damn moody? But chiefly it was the contrast between his seeming lack of human sympathy, his harsh and meticulous performance of his duties, and his equally meticulous care for his child. Speculation on this matter increased when people realised that Cosette was, in fact, not Javert's child. No relation at all - well fancy that! "Just what isgoing on therethen?" was the question on the lips of everyone form baroness to bangtail. It was a question that fascinated women in particular.  
Javert, being a dreamer, was little concerned by all this. He lived his life with the pleasing regularity with which he was accustomed to, and was surprised at how well Cosette was able to fit in with this. He performed his duties, she attended school and played with the Jacquemin children. He tried to spend at some time with her each day and to talk to her, considering this also to be part of his duty. When this was not possible he would often be found sitting by her bed when he finally did return home. He would take whatever he had found for supper to her bedside and watch her sleep. That way he kept faith with himself.  
Often she would wake up, seeming to have a sixth sense for his presence. He did not realise, as Adele would have, that she was desperate for his attention and Adele would never have explained it, sensing that Javert would take it as a reproach. Such evenings had their own routine. At first Javert would scold her gruffly - "Shouldn't you be asleep? You know when your bedtime is and you'll never get up tomorrow. Go back to sleep - I'm tired" etc, etc. In their first months together Cosette would obey him instantly, terrified that he would fly into a rage like the Thernardiess. Seeing that he never did, she grew bolder, producing childish excuses as to why she could not possibly sleep and asking questions about his day. Javert would then happily talk to the child - having no notion of how to speak to children he spoke to her as an adult - usually he would end up telling her a story. This was as much of a pleasure for him as for her - Javert loved to talk and those who considered him taciturn were those who did not know him well. If he had any vices other than his snuff it was a tendency to ramble at length.  
For her part, Cosette adored Javert, firstly as her rescuer from the Thenardiers and later for his own sake. At first this manifested itself as a desperate desire for his attention, an insecurity that made her sit up and wait for him when he was out and sit and watch him when he was in. She feared that she would be sent away or given back to Madame and, although he had promised that he would never return her to Monfermiel, she did not entirely believe him. Gradually, she forgot these fears and began to feel settled and her nature lightened accordingly. She remained a serious child - obedient, shy and desperate to avoid getting in the way. There was always a lot more going on in her head than was ever on her lips - although she was capable of speaking intelligently. She laughed seldom, but when she did it was infectious and she began to develop an impish sense of humour. And although her life with Javert could not remedy all the damage done by the Thenardiers (for she sensed that he too wanted a quiet and unobtrusive child) she even began to be light hearted and to behave with some of the heedlessness that is natural in children.  
Javert was gratified to see her nature grow sunnier and more open, but was also pleased that her character retained a streak of seriousness. She was also losing her scrawniness and fast became a healthy, robust, if plain, child. Unaccountably Javert worried about her plainness. Some fathers in his position might have been cheered by it, seeing in their daughter's homeliness the preservation of their existence a deux. Javert wished for Cosette all that he imagined constituted female happiness - a husband and children, a normal and, if possible, happy family life. Still, Adele said that a lack of beauty had never done her any harm on that front, and he reflected that being plain might help Cosette to remain sensible.  
If Javert had been a man to reflect, he might have noticed his increased ease and warmth in the Cosette's company, that time spent with her was always one of the more enjoyable aspects of his day, that he no longer objected when she called him Papa rather than Monsieur Javert. In short, that he had become fond of the child. But Javert was not a man to reflect, he had never seen the point of it. Perhaps as Cosette softened one part of his nature and his duties hardened another there was too little overall change for a man so inexperienced in personal reflection to notice it.

Javert was not the only person who had changed in Montrieul. Over the next three years Madeleine grew proud (the last temptation of the virtuous), and Fantine grew desperate . Her path continued to follow the one set down by Hugo - degradation and descent, physically, financially and spiritual.


	5. Humiliation

"Anne Gautier, Elise Jacquemin and Cosette Javert, please remain in your seats. The rest of the class may leave."  
It must have taken the children little more than a minute to surge out of the schoolroom. Once the banging of desk lids and the scraping of chairs had subsided and the last straggler had rushed out to play in the Friday snow Mlle Martin turned to the three girl and fixed them with a look which might have been mistaken for righteousness but which was really closer to what the Germans term schadenfreude.  
"For your misbehaviour you will all stay behind and write two-hundred times the lines I am going to give you. Anne and Cosette, I will be telling your fathers. As for you Elise, I shall tell your mother. Or - " with a look of such frank sadism that even the children blanched, " - perhaps I shall tell Cosette's father."  
Mlle Martin drew two lines down the blackboard and handed each of the children a piece of chalk.  
"Elise, you shall write 'Ladies never fight'. Anne, you shall write 'Nobody likes a bully'. And Cosette, I would like you to write out two-hundred times 'Nobody likes a telltale'. When you are finished you may leave - mind you shut the door properly behind you." So saying, she perched her faded black bonnet on her head and swept out the door.  
Cosette looked horrified and Elise even worse than horrified. When her mother was angry she threw pans (her aim was legendary, nearly as good as M Madeleine with a rifle). She had no idea what M Javert was like when angry and even less desire to find out.  
Seeing their terror, Anne said with a smiling, cocksure air, "Oh don't worry. She always says she'll tell - she never does."  
This somewhat reassured Cosette and Elise - after all, Anne Gautier was always in trouble and therefore in a position to know. Anne then began to chat merrily about the time Mlle Martin had caught her doing something or other that she shouldn't have been and hit her so hard she broke the ruler. " - it just went flying 'cross the classroom. I woulda laughed that hard if she hadn't just walloped me one!"  
It seemed there were no hard feelings from the morning's incident. It had began as one of those childish "My dad's better than you dad" arguments than Anne, daughter of a prosperous butcher, was forever indulging in. She had long given up trying to start them with Cosette - saying your father was Inspector Javert was rather in the same league as saying he was Lucifer, Prince of Hell and tended to finish the argument. With Elise Jacquemin, however, there was plenty of scope for Anne's sharp tongue. Germain Jacquemin was something of a town joke and Anne had been especially vicious that morning. So much so that the usually mind mannered Elise had flung herself at Anne, pulling her hair and scratching her face. By the time Mlle Martin intervened Anne Gautier, bleeding and dishevelled, looked very much like the innocent party. Mademoiselle had declared Elise to be a disgrace and that she would be severely punished for it. Which, in Cosette's eyes, was unfair. Being an honest child, and one who had been brought up by Javert to 'always do what you think is right' and 'tell the truth and shame the devil' she told her teacher the full story. She was fully prepared for Anne to hate her, for the inevitable pinching and hair pulling that would follow. What she was not prepared for was Mlle Martin's reaction, how she had called Cosette a disgusting little sneak and punished her along with her friends. The look of disgust on the schoolteacher's face had confused Cosette, as had the words - _'nasty little mouchard's bitch'_ - she had heard her hiss.  
Anne finished her lines quickly, with a practised ease, grabbed her slate and ran out the door. Cosette finished next and sat down to wait for Elise. Finally Elise reached two-hundred, climbed up on a chair to write 'Elise Jacquemin 5th Jan 1824' at the top of the board and tossed the stub of her chalk into a pot on the desk  
"Hurry up Elise, we're late!"  
"There's no point hurrying now. We may as well just walk slowly and meet Julie when she finishes at the factory."  
Julie was the eldest Jacquemin child. Her father did not like her working in the factory but she wanted to marry in the summer and wished to have some money to set herself up before she did so. Being as determined as her mother, he had not argued long.  
The children walked out into the winter street. It was five O'clock and already dark. When they reached the beginning of the esplanade Cosette said: "Oh, Elise, I nearly forgot. Papa gave me a twenty sous piece this morning - and another for you. Why don't I run and get us some fruit bread from Father Papon? You get Julie and I'll meet you in the square"  
"Fine - get Julie some too if there's change"  
Cosette bough three slices of fruit bread from the elderly baker, M Papon, and then loitered outside the bakery window to wait for her friends. Bored, she crouched down to write her name in the small patch of pristine snow that still remained under the bakery window. She was just debating whether she had space to add Mlle to the beginning of her name when she felt she was being watched and looking up she saw a woman standing in front of her. She was tall and rather thin, wearing a burgundy evening dress soiled at the hem and clutching the end of a loaf of cheap black bread in one hand. Cosette started slightly. There was something about this satin clad scarecrow of a woman and the way she was looking at her that was unnerving.Noticing the child's surprisethe woman crouched down next to Cosette and smiled. It was a nice smile but Cosette noticed she was missing her two front teeth.  
"Did your teeth fall out Madame? Don't worry, mine did too - they grow back".  
Cosette gestured to the gap in her bottom teeth. The woman laughed throatily and said, "something like that my love, something like that." She then looked down at Cosette's writing in the snow, "Did you write that yourself? It's nice for a girl to be able to write. Can't write a word but my name myself, and I wouldn't know that if I saw it written down. You're the Inspector's daughter, aren't you?"  
"Yes - he's not my real Papa though. He said he was going to find my mam but I think he's forgotten"  
"And what's you're name?"  
"Cosette."  
"My little girl is called Cosette! Well, really she's called Euphrasie - Cosette is my pet name for her. She'd be about your age now."  
Cosette, always keen to make new friends, had been just about to ask whether this little girl lived in Montrueil and why she didn't come to school when she heard a voice calling her name. Looking up she saw Julie Jacquemin striding across the square looking extremely agitated.  
"Cosette! Cosette, come here this instant away from that, that . . . woman"  
Cosette hesitated momentarily and Julie marched straight up to them, grabbed her hand and began to pull her away : "Come away now."  
The older woman shrank back against the shop front and held out her hands as if in supplication.  
"Please Mademoiselle, I meant no harm. I only wanted to talk to the child."  
" Women like you have no business talking to innocent children." Julie spat as shedragged Cosette away.  
" Why couldn't she talk to me Julie?" Cosette asked, confused.  
"Well sweetheart, some woman aren't, they aren't very nice. It's best not to go near them."

"What the Hell!" The woman in the burgundy dress said vehemently as she walked away from the baker's and across the square, "What the Hell do I care?" And what did she care? What was one more petty humiliation in a life that had been replete with them? If some jumped up little snot of a virgin wanted to call her name well, so be it - she'd had worse. It was probably true anyway, she wasn't a nice woman. She had spoken to the child, that was the important thing. Let La Goulue and the others tease her now!  
Just off the main square, in a narrow back street known officially as Passage de Zion Exulté and to its nocturnal frequenters as 'Passage des Zizis Exultés'#, a shabby group of women was milling around a charcoal burner.  
"Fantine!" called out a stout woman wearing a fur stole that looked as if it had been made from a large ginger tom. "Did you bring the bread?"  
"I did indeed Goulue. And I did more than that when I was at the bakers - I spoke to the kid!"  
"You never! Oye Marie - Fantine says she Spoke to Old Brimstone's brat! I wonder what her name is. Bet he called her Rule-Book or Police-Post or summat!"  
"Her name's Cosette - like my little one. I've done the bet so I've got first call on the brandy bottle now - for a whole wee mind"  
"Hey", ventured Marie, a tiny rat of a girl who couldn't have been more than fourteen, "Maybe she_is_ your little one! Hey girls - our Fantine's been having her wicked way with Inspector Brimstone! Whaddaya say to that?"  
"Oooh, what's he like? Big strong man like that - I'm ever so jealous", laughed a red-headed girl.  
"Not exactly the kind to keep you warm at night though - if you see what I mean." said an older woman  
"Urgh, I know what you mean, Lisette- the very thought makes my blood run cold."  
"Though he does have big hands," Marie said with a sly look, "You know what they say about men with big hands . . ."  
"Look, are we going to eat or what?" came the commanding voice of La Goulue. "I'm starving"  
The women huddled around the brazier and shard out the food between them. After they had eaten they helped each other prepare for the night ahead. They pinched each other's cheeks, adjusted their hair, hiked down their dresses and drank copious amounts of eau-de-vie for warmth and bravado. As they dispersed into the night the older tart, Lisette, remarked grimly: "Let's hope none of us run into Fantine's sweetheart."  
Suzette's reservations were to be proved uncannily and unfortunately accurate that evening. At about ten O'clock Fantine was plying her trade outside the officers' café in the square when she attracted the notice of one of the town fops, a not-so-young-buck named Bamatabois. He began by insulting the poor bedraggled harlot, something to which she paid no attention. Since he was drunk enough to believe that his witticism were very witty indeed, he was most insulted when they did not have the desired effect. Clearly more drastic action was called for. He scooped up a handful of snow, crept up behind Fantine and shoved it down between her bare shoulder blades. . Instantly she turned on him, kicking, scratching swearing and punching, terrible, frenzied and hideous. Later, Javert would say that she had attacked society by attacking M Bamatabois and, in a strange way, he was right. Here was the answer to the question, 'What is one more petty insult in a life that has been replete with them?' Soon a crowd had gathered around the pair, laughing, jeering and even making impromptu bets on the tussle's outcome until a tall man broke through the circle and, grabbing hold of the back of the woman's dress, pulled her off her, by now very dazed, victim. The man was, of course, no-one other than our own Inspector Javert. Silently, he lead her away to the Police Post, accompanied by the baying crowd.

#'Zizi' is a slang word for genitalia. 'Éxulté' means, 'exulted' or 'raised high'


	6. Chapter 6

This police post in Montreuil was a long room with a ceiling so low that a tall man, such as Javert, would graze top of his hat on the beams. For this reason, Javert allowed his men the unusual licence of removing their caps when inside. The low ceiling kept the post warm, in a fuggy sort of way, and the walls and glass panes of the door were stained with smoke from the stove. All in all it was a cheerless, uncomfortable place - for the officer as much as for the criminal - the entire aspect of which seemed to say 'Abandon hope all ye who enter here'.  
After entering with Fantine, Javert shut the door with a bad tempered snap that made the panes of glass rattle in their frames. This he did as a hint for the over-excited crowd that was amassing outside to go away. He seated himself at his desk, noting as he did so that Fantine had consigned herself to a corner of the room near the stove, took off his hat and began to cast about for a pen and some matches. Fortunately at that moment the duty-sergeant, Pontellier, placed a lighted candle on the desk in front of him. He flashed the boy a grateful smile. He never had much luck with those damn Lucifer things at the best of times and tonight his hands were like ice and he had seriously doubted the likelihood of his being able to successfully strike one and light the candle. Nothing was more certain to destroy the dignified image of the law than watching the officer who has just arrested you singe his fingers and send lighted matches and molten wax skittering across the table. And the dignity of the law was, in this kind of case, especially important.

As an afterthought, he said under his breath to Pontellier: "Go outside and get those vultures to bugger off."

He then turned back to the matter in hand. Yes, he reflected, in theses cases especially the majesty of the law was paramount, one wished to be as formidable as possible. There were certain conventions of appearance to be observed when dealing with different social groups. One might, for example, allow oneself to share a certain kind of ironical gallows humour with some of the seasoned criminals - after all, you both knew what to expect from each other in the end. With women of the town, however, the general plan was to terrify the poor slags so much that they did not want to come back. Although Javert appreciated that it was not always a question of 'want', especially after the first time. But that was the terrible thing about falling, having done it once it became far easier to do it the next time. Best never to do it at all! Take this woman, for example, he knew her vaguely, found her to be quiet and well-behaved enough for one of her kind. Yet she had let her self control slip (the smell of the cheap brandy on her breath had made his stomach turn somersaults) and had attacked a respectable citizen and voter without provocation - which had landed her here.  
He put down his pen and turned to the scarecrow figure huddled on the floor.

"You girl, Fantine - that is your name isn't it? - you're getting six months. Have her taken to the gaol under guard Sergeant Jacquemin."

At this the woman - the creature, thought Javert, since what was before him could scarcely be described as a woman - began to crawl towards him across the filthy floor, arms outstretched.  
  
"_Here we go again_" he thought to himself.  
  
"Monsieur Javert, I beg of you to be merciful. It was not my fault -"  
  
"_Well, no, of course it wouldn't be_." he mentally answered.  
  
" - I owe a hundred francs and If I don't pay my little girl will be turned out into the street - "

"_Oh, an unfortunate child - this is growing more depressingly predictable by the minute"_, he thought, "_Why do they always insist on telling me about their brats? What makes them think I'm going to be lenient on them just because of that poor excuse?. If they really gave a damn about their children they wouldn't get into these kinds of messes in the first place"_

" - Have pity on me Monsieur Javert!"

"_If I still retained the capacity for pity I wouldn't be wasting it on you,"_ he thought savagely. Here Javert was not being entirely honest with himself. On reflection, he would have confessed to feeling pity for the unfortunate children of these creatures. He was also known to be tolerant and patient with those filles de joie who did not break the law, kept their medical appointments, observed police regulations and otherwise pled their trade honestly. However, once they overstepped the line he felt nothing for them but contempt and aversion.

He turned away from Fantine in disgust.  
  
She snatched at his hand and pressed it to her lips. Looking up into his face she said in a soft voice,

"You have a child yourself Monsieur Javert - surely you can understand? Show me and my little one mercy for her sake!"

Javert snatched his hand away in real fury. The cheeky slut! How dare she bring his child into it?! How dare she use his innocent little girl as an excuse for her tawdry crimes?! Eyes blazing he turned back to Fantine and barked at her:  
  
" Have you quite finished? Is that all you have to say for yourself? Then be off with you! You're getting six months and the Eternal Father himself can't change it!"

It would be only fair to mention that at this moment Cosette was not behaving like the innocent angel of her father's (and indeed mother's) fond recollections. She was, at the moment when Javert consigned Fantine to prison, running about the Jacquemin's kitchen trying to hit young Sergeant Gallimard with a wooden spoon in the course of a game of boys versus girls tag that had got out of hand. Eventually tiring of the uproar around her, Mme Jacquemin raised her hands for silence and roared,

"Enough! Peace! Sit down afore I lay the back of me hand on the lot of you - and that means you too Yvon. A grown man and an officer of the law - you ought to know better than to be so daft!"

Even though there was a fond smile in her voice, she was obeyed instantly. Sergeant Gallimard - along with Lieutenant Daviot - lived with the Jacquemins and they naturally deferred to the woman known to all the men of the police post as 'Mother Adele'

"Kids, d'you want to come here and help me cook?"

Elise gave a bored sort of yawn and declined but Cosette and Henri, the next Jacquemin child up, crowded from eagerly. Cosette loved to watch Adele cook, and Adele was happy to have her around and teach her - how else was the poor mite ever going to learn. As for Henri, he showed an unusual interest in matters domestic for a boy - and unusual talent. Adele was considering asking M Delbecq, who kept the 'Three Horseshoes' to take him on in the kitchen when he was a bit older.  
  
"Right, Cosette you can stir and Henri you can chop. Make it quick though cos I want to take it over to your father before it gets too late Who's on tonight other than Germain and M Javert, Yvon?"

"Auguste Pontellier and Lieutenant Charlot as I remember."

"Oh Charlot's wife'll bring him something, no need to worry there. But I'd best take something for that poor boy - his mother and sister haven't a grain of sense to share between 'em." Mme Jacquemin always referred to Pontellier as 'that poor boy'

At this the children set up a clamour wanting to come with her

"Can we come mam? Please. We want to visit Papa. Please can we come - it's not really very late."

"Yeah mam - can we go?" Henri said, adding with a ghoulish smile, "We might get to see someone getting nicked"

Cosette and Elise shivered with pleasure. It was a dear wish of theirs to see someone being 'nicked' - whatever that might entail.  
  
"Don't talk such rubbish Henri. And of course you can't come - it's far too late and far too cold for you to be out."  
  
However, by the time Adele had prepared the food, packed it into a basket and but on her red cloak, she had relented and Elise, Cosette and Henri trooped out the door with her.

Just as Jacquemin took hold of Fantine's wrist in order to lead her away, there came a voice from the door.  
  
"A moment of your time please Javert."

Javert bowed deeply, grimacing as he did so. The appearance of M Madeleine was the one thing calculated to put him in a worse temper than before. His presence did not seem to please to woman much either, since she wrenched herself free of Jacquemin's grasp, dashed forward and spat in the mayor's face.  
  
"So, you're the mayor are ya? Well here's for you, ya swine!"

M Madeleine simple wiped his face, turned back to Javert and announced;

"This woman is to go free"

Javert had the distinct impression that he had suddenly gone mad - or that perhaps the rest of the world had seen fit to go mad and left him behind. He had seen that creature attack society not once, but twice, tonight. She had spat in the mayor's face - a thing that had not occurred in even his wildest fantasies (Well, maybe in his wildest fantasies). Yet his policeman's instinct told him that there was something perfectly intelligible in the woman's actions, something . . .reasonable, even? And what the devil was that old sod Madeleine playing at? Encroaching on his territory - and requesting that the tart should go free after what she had just done. It was this line of though that he chose to pursue.  
  
"I cannot agree to that M le Maire. She attacked a respectable citizen and she attacked you."

"The respectable citizen was at fault. I spoke to bystanders and found out it was he who initiated the brawl. By the letter of the law he should have been arrested."

Javert mentally cursed himself that he should have made so basic an error as to forget to question bystanders. That he should have been caught out in his mistake by M Madeleine of all people was unbearable. That _he_ should be in a position to lecture about 'the letter of the law'!. Had anyone else pointed out the mistake Javert would have submitted with a modicum of grace and suggested ironically that Bamatabois might like to 'join his lady friend' As it was, he fixed the mayor with a steady gaze and said

"That may be. But she also insulted you - consequently I am holding the woman Fantine."

"She is to go free"

Fantine, crouched on the floor, heard nothing but the words 'she is to go free'. She assumed that they had been spoken by Javert - impossible that someone as hateful as the mayor could have uttered them - and she crawled over to him, clutching his coat and addressing him with another pleading monologue. Javert feeling unsteady, sat down and focused all his attention upon Fantine, feeling her to be the only constant and predictable point in the room. Madeleine stood a few paces apart, listening to Fantine intently.  
  
"- and I owe the Thenardier's a hundred francs - "  
  
Something horrible began to stir in the back of Javert's mind. Thenardier - where had he heard that name before?  
  
"What name did you say, girl?"

"Thenardier - they're innkeepers. They look after my little girl."

"And where might this be?"

"Monfermiel"

"Ah," said Javert, almost without expression, your child is how old?"

"Nearly nine."

"And her name?"

"Cosette"

At that moment there was a terrible sense of illumination in the room - the kind of light produced by lightning rather than a candle - which was only understand by the bystanders Madeleine, Jacquemin and Pontellier. Fantine and Javert both seemed to wilfully ignore it. That this man . . . That this woman . . It was too terrible to be considered, and so it was not considered.  
  
It was at this moment that Adele entered with the three children. Sensing the atmosphere in the room, she made as if to leave but M Madeleine held out his hand and she halted at the door.  
  
"Cosette, come here please." he said gently, beckoning to the child.

Cosette glanced at Adele as if for reassurance. Mme Jacquemin nodded slowly and Cosette went. M Madeleine crouched down to the child's level and began to question her. Where had she been born? How old was she? Where had she lived before coming to Montreuil? With whom and what was it like? Was Javert her father? Did she remember her mother?  
  
When he had finished Madeleine stood up and turned to Javert.  
  
"Now will you let the woman go?"  
  
Despite the fact that he was trembling, Javert managed to stand up and look the mayor full in the face

"No. This is my province and I intend to keep the woman Fantine under arrest."

"Then as mayor and magistrate I dismiss you from your post for the remainder of today - kindly step outside."

Javert bowed and left. Adele too, white as a sheet and clutching at Elise's shoulder violently, stepped towards the door.

"Come along children - I think we should go"

She set down her basket gingerly and stewarded them into the snow.


	7. Chapter 7

Never one to stand on ceremony, Adele did not bother to knock when she entered the apartment, she simply set down her basket and began to fuss about the debris of papers, crockery and other debris that was scattered about

"Men! Really, this room is shameful!"

she said picking up a cravat that had been absent-mindedly dumped atop a dirty plate The Inspector hardly seemed entirely unaware of her presence for several minutes. Finally he looked up from his desk and, as if his had only just seen her, asked:

"How did you get in?"

"Madame Manette gave me the key. I've brought you supper."

The Inspector returned his eyes to the desk. Adele shrugged and brusquely unpacked the basket and then continued tidying as if to show that his rudeness didn't bother her. She made a point of pretending that he wasn't there, singing and talking to herself as she would at home. Every so often she would steal a glance at her, and she noticed that he would also make the occasional furtive glance at her. 'Doubtless he's wondering when I'm going to go away', she thought.  
Finally, when she could find nothing left to tidy, she sat herself down on a wicker based chair and stared at Javert intently. Eventually he returned her gaze

"Yes? Can I help you?"

"Are you alright, Monsieur Javert?" said Adele, getting straight to the point.  
Javert leant forward, took her by the hand and looked at her reproachfully  
  
"Adele Jacquemin, you should know me well enough by now to realise that I want no-one's pity, least of all yours. You're really being very irritating at the moment."

"And you're being very unhygienic - that cravat!" She began to scold, but then thought better of it and continued in a more level voice, "Just so long as you're sure. Is there really nothing I can do for you?"

"Well, no, funnily enough!" he laughed mirthlessly. "Unless you can turn time back four years and make me back into a simple man, which I very much doubt. Or give me back my child."

"She's not your child Monsieur" said Adele as kindly as she could, but with finality, "In the end you have to remember that"

Although tenderly meant, her remark caused the Inspector to start.  
  
"Good God! I take her in, save her from a life of penury, feed her, cloth her, teach her to read, sit up at night when she is sick, treat her as my own flesh and blood - and yet she is not my child! God above woman tell me what else I am mean to do, for I find myself at a loss. Devil take it! I have no words! It seems she must be the child of that, that - drolesse! Pah!"

"I'm sure the judge will see sense", offered Adele. She felt that their roles had been abruptly switched about. Normally it was she who was given to over-emotional soliloquies and Javert who was the dispenser of calm and sensible advice.  
  
"Ah yes, one would like to hope that the courts will decide in favour of common-sense and righteousness, but with Madeleine in the case I somehow doubt it," he said with more bitterness than she had heard in anyone's voice before  
There was a moment of silence and then Javert said matter of factly:

"If I lose her, I lose everything you know Adele."

"Come now, Monsieur - I've lost three - "

"No, no - you don't understand. I'll wager you were just about to remind me that I'll still have my work. But how could I serve a law that does something so ridiculous as to support the lower against the higher, the woman of the town against the officer of the law, a law that takes a child from affluence and returns her to destitution. I'm not sure if you know, Adele, but my own mother ended up as one of - of those women. It's an awful life being a tart's child - not what I want for Cosette. And yet the decision of the judge is, of course, final and far more correct than the petty objections of a police inspector."

Having made this speech, he withdrew into himself again, resting his head in his hands and running his finger through his side whiskers. Suddenly he made a noise midway between a sob and a groan, a horrible, ugly sound that Adele had never heard before.  
  
"Javert?" she ventured timidly  
Again he looked at her as if only seeing her for the first time, but this time the was anger in his face. Anger and shame. He jumped up from his chair and moved to the window, as if to put as much space as possible between the, shouting at the top of his voice

"Look, just get out! Get out! Piss off and leave me alone you interfering bloody woman!"

Without a word, Adele left. Out in the corridor she began to reflect. He had been like this for over a week now. Ever since that night at the police post he had been practically catatonic - barring the occasional outburst of the kind she had just witnessed. She - and others - had began to fear for his sanity. Two days after the incident M Madeleine had announced that he intended to support Fantine's claim in the court then he had come to Adele, taken Cosette and placed her under the care of the nuns. She had not seen her father since. Despite what she had said, Adele believed firmly that Javert had more right to the child than Fantine - what kind of mother abandons her child to the whims of fortune anyway? She could not believe that the mayor was to support the woman's claims. Yet she had faith that good sense would prevail. Being a firm believer in the proverb 'Fortune helps those who help themselves' she decided to give things a push in the right direction. Adele made up her mind to see Madeleine herself.


	8. Chapter 8

"Well, what can I do for you, Mme Jacquemin?" enquired the Mayor with welcoming equanimity, shuffling the papers on his desk into an orderly formation of three piles.  
Adele took both the shuffling and the equanimity for bad signs. The shuffling meant that he was pretending to be busy - her husband pulled exactly the same trick, as did both Javert and Daviot. Perhaps all men did, she mused. And as for the equanimity, well, it made things difficult. It was hard to be on the offensive with someone so resolutely nice. Madeleine was widely held to be a kind man - a very saint - but for Adele his kindness was only a form of inscrutability, disarming all objection or enquiry.

"Is this about your daughter? She's a very able worker, so my foreman tells me. Very well liked. We shall be sorry to lose her, but I should like to make her a small gift of - "

"No, M'sieur le Maire, I'm afraid it's not about that at all. I've come to speak to you about Monsieur Javert - "

"I see."

"You see, the thing is . . " Adele groped around in her brain to find exactly the right words for what she wanted to say. They would not come so in frustration she exclaimed, "It's not fair! It's just not fair what you're doing to him!" She had not meant to accuse the mayor and she awaited in trepidation his response. Madeleine's voice remained as level and cordial as ever when he answered

"What exactly do you mean, Mme Jacquemin?"

Adele again found herself lost for word. She felt in some obscure way that she was being played with, mocked and so when she finally thought of something to say she did not bother to keep the hard edge out of her voice: "I'm not educated like you, Monsieur le Maire, or like the judges at the Assize court. I only know what I see with my own eyes. If you had only seen how miserable the inspector is - "

Doubtless thinking of Fantine, the mayor only said coldly, "I know what I have seen."

"I've no doubt that Monsieur le Maire does - and I'm sure he'll be good enough to extend me the same confidence! All I can say is this, I know that M'sieur Javert and yourself have not always seen eye to eye - you're too different for that - but you can't deny that he cares for the child, that he loves her as if she was his own - "

"But she is not his own . . ."

Although Adele had raised this objection herself only the day before, something in the Mayor's smooth tone irritated her and she looked at him coldly. "Monsieur le Maire does not have children himself. He has not lost a child. Perhaps I was wrong to expect him to understand what that feels like, to be separated from a child one has cared for - "  
As she spoke these last words Adele noticed something change in the Mayors face. It became sadder and harder, taking on a pained, haunted expression. She stopped speaking instantly - despite her quick temper, Adele hated to hurt people.  
"Forgive me, M'sieur Madeleine! I spoke out of turn - it was not my place - "

"Mme Jacquemin, you spoke what was in your heart, as a good woman should. I cannot blame you for that. Now, would you like to see Cosette?"

"Very much, M'sieur. The truth is, I've missed her - she's almost like one of my own"

"You are one of nature's mothers, Mme Jacquemin, that is doubtless why you take Monsieur Javert's predicament so much to heart. But it should also help you to understand the suffering of the poor girl in the hospital. I was taking Cosette to meet her mother today - if you would like to accompany me? I think it would do everyone concerned good."


	9. The Reunion

A/N - Rampant sap, you have been warned! But it had to happen sometime, I suppose . .

The nuns brought Cosette to the hospital, waiting outside until the arrival of the mayor, whohad specifically asked to be present at the reunion.  
As soon as she saw Adele she somehow managed to let slip Sister Perpetua's grasp and ran to embrace her. It was clear that, for Cosette, this was a homecoming of sorts and she buried herself in the folds of Mme Jacquemin's cloak, wrapping her arms around her thick waist. Adele bent down and kissed Cosette on both cheeks; fierce, protective kisses in which there may have been a hint of defiance. The mayor regarded them with an unfathomable expression on his face and, feeling the weight of his gaze, both child and woman became intimidated, abashed, and released their hold on one another.  
Cosette, especially, seemed to be affected by his presence, staring disconsolately at the floor and chewing a strand of her hair. Madeleine's presence seemed to bring on a return of the painful reticence which the child had exhibited when first arrived in Montreuil. The mayor, appearing not to notice the child's reserve, addressed her in a grave, kindly voice: "Are you well, Euphrasie?"  
The answering 'yes, Sir' was scarcely audible.  
"Today is a very special day, Euphrasie. Today you shall be reunited with you mother."  
"With my mother? . . . Maman?" This news seemed to restore some of the child's confidence, or at least to reawaken her natural curiosity, for she began to chatter on in a rather brighter manner than the one she had previously exhibited, addressing her remarks to Adele as much as Madeleine (but not at all to the nun). Adele kept silent throughout - she had promised herself that she would not to so much as open her mouth until she had seen this business through and could gauge what the mayor meant.  
"You mean I truly have a mother? A real one - like you Mme Jacquemin? I never thought about having a mother before - "  
"Everybody has a mother, child" said Madeleine gently.  
"Yes, I just didn't believe in her, I suppose. Cos I couldn't remember her. But now . . What is she like? I do hope she's like you, Madame!"  
"Euphrasie, your mother is a good woman who loves you very much.. At the moment she is very sick, so you must help her to get better - do you understand? When she is quite well you shall live together and you shall both be very happy - "  
"I wonder why she wants me back now?" mused Cosette, entirely innocently. That her mother should suddenly appear and lay claim to her was as unremarkable to the child as the fact that she had disappeared in the first place, that Javert had brought her to Montreuil or, indeed, that on some days it chose to rain: "Did Papa find her?"  
"Well, not exac - " began the mayor, but Cosette had not really been waiting for a response.  
"I'm excited about having a maman now. And when she is well we will all live together - her and me and Papa - won't we?"  
Adele looked away. The mayor bit his lip for a moment then replied: "No, Euphrasie, it will be just you and your mother, and you both shall be very - "  
"Not Papa? Why?"  
"He's not really your father - "  
"Oh," said Cosette dully, looking back at the floor again. She did not understand the logic behind this at all, but did understand it to be one of those thing that happened because it happened, on of those examples of - _"Why? Because I said so_." - that the adult world was so fond of offering and with which she had learned not to argue. None-the-less, a large pearly tear trickled down the child's otherwise impassive face, followed by another. Madeleine looked at her and sighed as he opened the sickroom door, indicating to the others to wait.

Sister Simplice helped Fantine to sit up in bed and wrapped a woollen shawl around her shoulders. The girl smiled broadly, her faced flushed with what could either have been excitement or consumption  
"She's really here? I am really to see her? My little girl . . At last!" She turned to Madeleine, who had seated himself at the side of the bed, "And it is all thanks to you, Monsieur Madeleine, God keep you! You are so kind . . !"  
And she seized Madeleine's hand and made as if to kiss it. Madeleine blushed and pulled his hand away almost brusquely, looking down at the floor. To have this woman, of all people, praise his goodness was almost unbearably painful to him.  
Still gazing at the tiles, he said: "Shall I fetch her in? sister?" Both women nodded, the sister gravely and the mother with an excited little gasp.  
"You may come in now, Sister Perpetua." called Madeleine.  
The door opened slowly, Cosette can in first nudged through by Adele, who remained standing just inside the doorway, Sister Perpetuachose this moment to walked slowly towards the sickbed, not exactly with trepidation, but thoughtfully, stopping just short of Madeleine's chair  
"Euphrasie, this is your mother, " he said quietly, looking at the child to save looking at the mother, who as now crying  
"Dieu! My little girl! God has forgiven me! My little one - but so grown! So grown . . "  
Cosette at first regarded this strange spectacle with confusion, unable to see why this unknown woman should be weeping, apparently over her. Then she looked closer, and the woman seemed familiar. An image came into her head - a burgundy scarecrow and two missing teeth on a cold winter's afternoon. And then, more dimly, blonde sweet hair and candlelight and a woman singing something about the Blessed Virgin and violets.  
This had long been the child's oldest and most obscure and treasured memory. She had told her father about it once, when he had asked her about her life in Monfermiel. He had simply nodded, lifting up the corners of his mouth in an expression that was not a smile, and said: "The rose is blood red and the violet is blue. The rose is blood red and my heart remains true."# Then he had laughed.  
Meanwhile the woman was still crying, which , unaccountably, rather upset Cosette. She stepped forward to the bedside and said:" But, I . . I know you! You told me about your little girl. Outside the baker's, remember?"  
"I'm your mother!" Fantine sobbed, suddenly confused by the situation. She had been more than half expecting to see the bonny, curly-haired almost-baby she had left behind, not a tall, well-grown child like the one standing before her.  
The little girl knitted her brow and then, impulsively, climbed up onto the bed and put her hand on Fantine's face "Don't cry! Please don't cry . . ."  
Adele watched this scene unfold from the doorway, an unwelcome sense of turmoil rising in her brain. She felt slightly dizzy and leant against the door lintel, entirely ceasing to pay attention to what was going on around her. Suddenly, an uncertain amount of time later, she heard the mayor call her name.  
"Madame Jacquemin? I have business to attend to - would you be so kind as to return Cosette to the Sisters?" Adele nodded, determined to be agreeable, but still noting that there was something in the mayor's tone which said "_And straight to the Sisters, mind you."._  
When Madeleine left the room Adele sat herself down on his chair and looked between Cosette and the girl in the bed - poor, ridiculous chit of a thing! Eventually she remarked, not unkindly:  
"She looks like you, you know - beautiful eyelashes."  
It was true but Fantine looked surprised. She had been gazing at the child sat on the edge of the bed - solemn and a little reserved, head cocked to one side and hands bunched up in her sleeves - and thinking that, in manner at least, she was highly reminiscent of someone else entirely.

#This part of a song Fantine sings when she is delirious (Part 1, bk 7, ch 6) and Hugo calls it "an old cradlesong". The translation (rather free) is mine. The French runs thus: "Les bleuets sont bleus, les roses sont roses/Les bleuets sont bleus, j'aime mes amours"


	10. Documents of release

A/N Aaargh, the sap just got sappier! And, yes, I have basically ripped off John Molkovich's Javert for this chapter - but remember that saying about imitation and flattery. 

Adele duly returned Cosette to the nuns and went away not knowing what to think, much less what to do. She had gone to Madeleine confident of her ability to make him see reason, and was now uncertain of whether she had either the ability or the desire to do so. Unaccountably, she had found herself moved by the plight of the girl in the hospital and this made her wish she had not agreed to see her. Before she had met Fantine consideration for the girl's feeling had simply not arose. Now Adele had the distinct suspicion that there was no course of action that did not involve hurting someone. As a result of this impasse shedecided to try andavoid Javert, fearing that he would take her indecision as betrayal,  
For a full two and a half days Adele managed this rather well, ducking into shop doorways and becoming studiously interested in paving stones at necessary intervals. On the afternoon of the third day she came home to find the inspector sitting in her kitchen, rendering all her stratagems ineffective. He had not called to see her, as it happened. Rather he had come looking for Lieutenant Daviot and, finding him out, had sat down to wait. However,now they were alone together, the subject of Cosette seemed unavoidable. Working on the principal of 'better out than in', Adele had been in the process of determining the best method of broaching the subject when the inspector asked, with deliberate neutrality: "And how is Cosette?"  
"Well, well. I saw her on Saturday when I went to see M'sieur le Maire - "  
"Yes, I know," said Javert in that same light, studied voice.  
Adele opened her mouth to ask how he knew when Javert shot her a look that plainly said: _"Detective, my dear",_ the effect of which was so comical that she laughed in despite of herself.  
"But of course!" she said, glad that the atmosphere had lightened somewhat.  
"I know all and I see all," Javert quipped, flashing his teeth. The effect of that smile was as if a shaft of winter's light had crossed his face, illuminating it all too briefly before passing on and leaving the inspector his old, sombre self:  
"So, she's well." he continued.  
"Yes, Inspector, she's fine - which is more than I can say for the mother - I had a nice long talk with her - Cosette, not the other one. And, and - oh, Javert, I would have brought her to see you on our way back to the convent but M'sieur - "  
"Madeleine.? Ah, dear Monsieur Madeleine! Yes, I quite understand. Perhaps I should go and speak to him myself - "  
"You could . . . " said Adele doubtfully. Suddenly an idea began to take shape in her mind: "Or . . "  
"After all, it's just too, too stupid - "  
"Or, you could go see the girl!"  
"The girl . . . ?" repeated Javert with a look of surmise.  
Just then Daviot entered the room.  
"You were looking for me, inspector?"  
"Yes," said Javert curtly, picked up his hat and heading to the door, indicating to Daviot that he should do the same Adele, very suddenly, was struck by another idea and, as Javert slipped out the door, she called to him: "You might like to go in the afternoon, inspector - between about one and three."

Javert had realised that Mme Jacquemin had been trying to give him a hint, and had taken it, although he had somewhat misinterpreted what the hint had been about. Consequently, when the portress asked him if he was looking for the mayor he had answered yes, since that was, in part, the truth. The woman conducted him to Fantine's room without a murmur and with no particular misgivings.  
Inside the room, Javert was not to be received so warmly. Fantine regarded him with a look of frank terror and made a petrified little gasp in her throat, shrinking back against the headboard as she did so. This reaction irritated Javert considerably, causing him to lose the composed and gentle manner he had been determined to assume for the visit. Instead her barked: "Oh, calm down you silly tart! I'm not going to clap you in irons!" He mustered just enough self restraint to stop himself from adding, _"More's the pity."_  
Sister Simplice eyed him coldly and enquired, "Does Monsieur l'inspecteur have any business to attend to here?" with an eyebrow raised.  
"As a matter of fact, ma soeur, I do," he said in a voice of profound respect. Then he added, "Alone with the girl" with somewhat less deference, plainly implying '_You don't tread on my toes, sister, and I won't tread on yours'.  
_ Sister Simplice sniffed and left the room.  
Javert seated himself on the chair next to the sickbed. It took Fantine a good two minutes of concentrated thought, staring somewhere to the left of Javert's ear, before she mustered the courage to ask: "What do you want?"  
"Well, said Javert, slipping into a comfortable, official tone, "One assumes that you are going to be giving up your former career and, if so, there's some paperwork that needs to be done, forms and the like. Now - " he went on, reaching into the pocket of his greatcoat.  
"Forms?" mouthed Fantine stupidly.  
"But of course - there are always forms. Now, you'll need to sign here and here - if you can write? Shall I fetch a pen?"  
"But I don't understand - forms for what?"  
"If," Javert said slowly, "you are intending to cease plying your trade as a prostitute there are certain formalities that need to be attended to. This forms have to be signed as part of your declaration to the police, so that your name can be removed from the register - "  
"And that's it?" She said, her eyes shining, "Then it will be really behind me?"  
"You will be kept under surveillance for two years." the inspector said tersely, as if he was tired of having to remind people about that part.  
Fantine looked at him searchingly for a moment, an uncharacteristically shrewd expression on her face:" Why are you doing this?"  
"Because it is my duty as an inspector of the municipal police"  
"Yes, but - ?"  
Javert sighed: "I also wish to speak about Cosette."  
Something flickered across Fantine's faced which moved the inspector to say: "Don't worry, you still get your papers signed, even if you have the sisters throw me out now."  
Fantine gave a nervous, shuddering laugh that ended in a cough. Well, the inspector had said talk about Cosette and, ever eager to do exactly that, she began at speed, the words running ahead of her breath, causing a second bout of coughing, more violent than the first. Javert averted his eyes, feeling helpless and disgusted in equal measure as she hacked away noisily, leaning over to spit something unspeakable in a bowl set by the side of the bed, presumably for that express purpose. She wiped her mouth and then, to Javert's astonishment, continued talking from where she had left off as if nothing had happened "- And then Monsieur le Maire has said we shall live together, I won't have to work or worry and we shall be as happy as it's possible to be - "  
Javert leant forward and looked at her closely. "Oh you pathetic creature," he remarked at length in a voice that contained neither contempt nor pity. He was simply stating the truth as he saw it.  
"Do you want to know the truth? As far as I can tell, you're dying. What does the doctor have to say about it?"  
"Nothing"  
"That, " he said grimly, "is always the worst sign."  
Both parties looked away, Fantine at the counterpane and Javert at his highly polished boots. At that point there came a brisk knock at the door, which opened before either of them could even think about saying 'come in' In the door stood Sister Perpetua. An awkward moment ensued and then a jumble of half finished sentences:  
"I didn't know - "  
"Sister - "  
"I've brought - "  
"Should I go?"  
The dilemma was solved when Cosette, aware that things were not running according to plan and curious, put her head around the door and caught sight of Javert. Manners forgotten she pushed past the nun and flung her arms about his neck  
"Papa! Papa!"  
Javert sat perfectly still for a moment, as if in shock. His whole posture was strangely reminiscent of the first time Cosette had shown any affection for him, when he had said she would not be returning to the Thenardiers, back in 1820.  
Cosette was almost beside herself with excitement, letting go of Javert and climbing up onto the bed to kiss her mother.  
"Papa! You've come to see me finally! Have you missed me then?"  
Javert gave an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders and pulled his most comically laconic of faces: "Bof! No, no really, can't say I have. It's been very peaceful without you, very tidy - I can honestly say I've not missed you a bit "  
Fantine smiled at this display, although she noticed a gravely texture to the inspector's voice which Cosette did not.  
"Liar! Liar!" the child said "I'm sure you have!" She turned to her mother for support: "Don't you bet he has, Mother?"  
Fantine lowered her gaze, not wishing to venture an opinion in even this seemly light hearted discussion.  
Cosette, becoming suddenly serious, hopped down from the bed and smoothed out her skirts. Turning to Javert she said, with a slightly precocious air: "Papa, this is my mother, and Mama, this is M'sieur Javert, my papa."  
Fantine looked at Javert and, before she had properly thought about what she was doing, smiled and raised an eyebrow. To her astonishment, he raised one thick black brow in return.  
Cosette prattled on about nothing in particular - the weather, school, sister Agnes who looked just like a white mouse. Then she paused, looked at her parents, hand on hips, pushed her bottom lip against her top one and said solemnly: "Are you two going to get married now?"  
She was met with two of the most incredulous expressions that it is possible to imagine and a prolonged silence. Finally Javert gave an uncomfortable cough and stated that he really ought to be going. Turning to Cosette, he said: "You, mind that you're good!" and, catching her hand very briefly in his own, he strode to the door, clicking it shut behind him.

Javert's luck was out that afternoon. No sooner had he taken his hand off the door handle when he was presented by the sight of Monsieur Madeleine striding down the corridor towards him. There was no point in trying to pretend that he wasn't there, or that he hadn't seen the mayor. Instead he strode up to him, bowed deeply and said: "Monsieur Madeleine. I've wanted to speak to you for some time - if Monsieur le Maire does not mind - "  
"What is it?" the mayor said coldly, making it plain that he would really rather be talking to anyone else.  
"Firstly, if Monsieur would care to check and sign these - " said Javert, proffering Fantine's papers  
Madeleine took them, squinted at them and frowned: "Just what are you playing at, inspector?" he growled.  
"Monsieur - " Javert began to protest.  
Madeleine cut him short: "What do you want, Javert?"  
"To speak of my child, Monsieur le Maire."  
"Now, listen to me, Inspector Javert," the mayor said in cold, commanding tone, "Listen carefully because I really have no wish to repeat myself on this matter. I had hoped that after our dispute in the police post that you would conduct yourself a little more circumspectly, but it seems I was wrong. You have come to display, inspector, a stubbornness and a streak of wilfulness that is most unbecoming in a man of your stature. I wish to see no more of it! It impresses nobody - what were you doing here today? Trying to frighten the poor unfortunate with being kept on the register, hein? Now, I am going to speak very plainly - perhaps more so than etiquette dictates - You will not see Euphrasie, I will not discuss this matter further, this case will be judged at the assizes and - if I am not greatly mistake - Euphrasie will be sent to live with her mother. Dismissed!"  
Madeleine strode off down the corridor and had shut the door of Fantine's room behind him before Javert had even had time to recover himself sufficiently to open his mouth.

Inside the sickroom Madeleine asked Fantine gently: "Are you alright? He won't trouble you again."  
He then began to prattle of nothing - of the weather, of Cosette and Lord know what else. Fantine could hardly bring herself to listen. She was utterly lost in contemplation of her own foolishness, her own woeful inability to judge a character. The mayor's kindly chatter only served as a reminder of this. Had she not reviled him as a monster, cursed his name every night, spat in his face? And all the time he had been the best of men - he had saved her from prison, taken care of her, found her little girl. And she had done it again. She had hated Javert, hated and feared him, her heart had painted him in the blackest of colours until he had seemed nothing short of the Fiend's representative on earth. And yet the way he had come to her today . . . Well versed in humiliation, Fantine realised what that must have cost. Yet it was only seeing him with Cosette that she realised just how much she had thought wrongly of him. Not only had he cared for her child but he had loved her too - that was apparent to anybody. And Cosette loved him too, and she was sure that that would not be the case without good reason. She looked up from the counterpane. Monsieur Madeleine was talking to Cosette. Silently Fantine began to weep at the thought of how stupid it was possible to be.


	11. The denouement

A/N - Only one more chapter to go aftre this!! I'm not sure whether to be sad or relieved.

Monsieur René-Charles Hulot, president of the Arras assize court, stepped down from his carriage into the street at the corner of the Esplanade with no particular enthusiasm. It was bitter cold outside of the coach for a start, and he stuffed his hands into his coat pockets and turned up his collar against the wind. He looked up at the fine stone house on the corner .Doubtless a maid was setting the fires and brewing tea. He saw a figure pass across one of the upstairs window - the one with the balcony - which might have been Marie (the parlourmaid)but might equally have been his sister. Monsieur Hulot shuddered, noticing that there was a dead plant in a earthenware pot on the balcony.  
It certainly was very cold, but he had no desire to go inside as of just yet because, although there was certainly a warm fire and refreshments waiting for him, his sister, her husband and brood of more or less tiresome grown children were waiting also. His monthly visits to his sister were the bane of his life and an obligation he only fulfilled because forty years of legal work had endowed him with a vague and uneasy sense of duty (And because he happened to owe her husband quite a bit of money, but that was by the by). No, he certainly didn't want to go in just yet. Surely he was too early, anyway? He checked his watch - he was exactly on time. And he couldn't very well stand outside the front door doing nothing, could he?  
He looked around the street, hoping that something exciting and important might catch his eye. So it was with the greatest delight that he spotted a tall man, almost as muffled against the cold as the president himself, walk out of a side street opposite and head off in the other direction._ 'Perfect'_ thought René-Charles, _'The perfect, perfect excuse - if only it's him'.  
_He took a few steps forward and called out in a loud, good-natured voice: "Javert! Monsieur L'Inspecteur!"  
The tall man turned and Hulot saw that he had been right. The inspector looked down the street, puzzled. Clearly he had not seen who had called him. Hulot, determined not to let his excuse and saviour escape so easily, called out again, waving an arm. The inspector started and then, to Hulot's relief, began to trot in the direction of the carriage.  
"Monsieur le President!" Javert bowed low and removed his hat, " You are well, I trust? What brings you to Montreuil, Monsieur?"  
"Family," said Hulot, glancing up at the corner house with an expression midway between distaste and fear, "For which I'm none the better"  
"I'm not keeping you, sir?" Javert gestured to the house.  
"Not at all." said the President, turning his back on the house and walking in the opposite direction, fully aware that politeness dictated that his inferior should follow him, "I'm glad I caught you, as it happens, Javert. I'd like your opinion on something - that Lemaitre business. Trial comes up next weeks and, to be honest, we don't know whether we're Arthur or Martha with it. I thought the opinion of a man _on the ground_, as it were, might clear things up somewhat."  
Javert looked both surprised and highly gratified and launched into a long speech about exactly what he considered the important aspect of the case to be and to which Monsieur Hulot did not listen at all (although, if he had, he might have learnt something)  
" - And that," concluded Javert, "only goes to prove my point that more money should be spent on policing rural areas."  
"Quite, quite" said the president. He noticed that they had walked full circle and were nearly outside the corner house again. Hulot glanced up at the dead plant on the balcony, heard its few remaining fossilised branches rattling in the wind and said: "How is your daughter, inspector?"  
Président Hulot had been most surprised to learn that Javert had a child. He himself had many children and grandchildren - he even carried a miniature of the eldest girl, which he never failed to show new acquaintances. It was after he had shown Javert this miniature, and before launching on his customary oration about the wonders of his own progeny and exactly why they were better than his greatly disliked nieces and nephews that he had found out about the inspector's own daughter. Since then, he had never failed to enquire after her when they met.  
"She's fine - so I'm told. I take it that Monsieur le Président hasn't heard yet. I'd have thought they 'd be sorting the papers for the case at the court by now"  
Hulot grimaced mentally. Of course he had heard about this ridiculous business and rather wishedthat Madeleine would just drop the whole thing. If not, then he had no intention of touching it with a stick unless he really had to - something for his deputy. Still, he reckoned that he'd better say something to salvage the situation. He didn't want to seem like a churl or - far worse - like he didn't know what went on in his own territory.  
"That's what I meant - how's the child coping?"  
"A lot better than I am, I dare say," Javert remarked blandly, twirling his can. For a long time he looked as if he was going to say something else, but he didn't so Hulot spoke instead  
"I should worry if I were you. The whole thing's quite likely to prove to be a storm in a teacup. I'm sure most people - the court included - will feel as we would on the matter. After all, an inspector of police against some no-better -than -she-ought-to-be little tart, even if she is . . ." Hulot trailed off and frowned, "Then, there is Madeleine to contend with. One just never knows when he's in the case. Still . . ."  
It had started to spit, large cold splodges of rain that spoke of a deluge to come. Sadly Monsieur Hulot looked at the sky then at the house on the corner of the esplanade.  
"Well, I suppose I shouldn't keep my sister waiting any longer - no point prolonging the agony. Thank you for your views on the Lemaitre business - most informative I'm sure, inspector."  
Javert bowed again in farewell and Hulot grasped hold of his sister's doorknocker rather as if it were a reptile. Before knocking he turned and said to Javert: "On the other matter, I really wouldn't worry. Why don't you speak to Madeleine yourself, man to man. See if you can't talk him out of the whole silly business"

Madeleine stood up and gazed out his office window, leaning with one hand on the sill. He had been doing something - reading, making notes, accounts. He could honestly remember what he had started out to do since he had spent at least the past half hour drawing little circles and squares in the margins of his ledger, examining his cuticles, tearing a piece of blotting paper into small strips and all manner of time wasting nonsense. He wanted to go and see Fantine, sensing that she would enjoy being with him more than he was currently enjoying being with himself.  
The truth was that Madeleine's conscience was paining him. There was, of course, the matter of Fantine. Ever since that night back at the police post there had been the matter of Fantine. She, poor child, had forgiven him entirely, but Madeleine still heard her angry words at the police station, still feel each accusation as clearly as he had then felt her spit on his cheek. He felt that he had much to answer for - and answer for it he would. He was determined to do right by the girl and her child, no matter what.  
But then there was the matter of Javert, the reason why Madeleine felt especially wretched that afternoon. He had just been reflecting that he had been unnecessarily harsh with the man. It might even be fair to say that he had been a little cruel. Now, to be cruel to anyone was bad enough, but, looking at things retrospectively, Javert really hadn't deserved it either. What right had he to assume that Javert had gone to the hospital to intimidate Fantine? And how likely as it that a man of the inspector's probity would do so anyway/? Although, in fairness, it had looked rather suspicious. Would Javert have made the same effort had Fantine been just any woman of the town rather than the mother of his child? He thought not. It was only when Fantine herself made no complaint of the man's conduct that Madeleine realised he might have been mistaken.  
Truly, he had no wish to be unduly unpleasant to Javert. He did not like him, but he did respect him, he also pitied him, and . . . '_You're afraid of him, aren't you?'_ said the old, feral, convict part of Madeleine's brain. _'Yes, yes I am'_ he admitted to himself. _'Then why antagonise him?'_ asked the convict, '_You'll only make things worse for yourself if he has found you out.' 'I know. I can't help it - he just brings out the worst in me'_ Madeleine wondered why this should be, why he should have been so unspeakably rude to the inspector when both charity and self interest demanded patience.  
An image came into his head. A local farmer was wont to keep his animals enclosed with high fences of sharp brambles, held up by metal rails. A young colt that this farmer was trying to break for the plough had taken it into his head to escape and , failing, had speared himself on one of the metal rails, hopelessly tangled in the brambles. The thing, recalled Madeleine, that had made rescuing him so difficult was that the stupid creature, instead of shying away from the pressure of the rail, had moved into it, impaling himself deeper. The more desperate his situation had become, the more he had moved into the pressure. Perhaps there was something of the same destructive instinct in his own behaviour?  
Madeleine's reverie was interrupted by a stagy cough behind him.. He turned around and had to restrain himself from groaning aloud_. "Why God?"_ he asked inwardly,_ "Why now"_  
It hardly need explaining who was standing in the doorway, clutching a dossier of papers.  
The mayor sat down. Inside his brain Jean Valjean was marshalling Madeleine's faculties. _'Just get rid of him,' _the convict in Madeleine urged, _'it's not wise for him to be here. If he's not here then you can't be rude to him - have him come back when you're more composed'  
_"I thought I'd said all I have to say, inspector" There was no anger in his voice, he merely sounded very tired.  
Javert looked rather taken aback: "But Monsieur le Maire, it's not concerning that - "  
"Be that as it may - I'm still very busy"  
Javert stepped into the room just far enough to set his dossier down on the mayor's desk, then he left without a word  
"You could come back tomorrow afternoon - " Madeleine called after him faintly.

By the time he reached his apartment Javert was shaking with fury. His hands were trembling so much that it took him a good few minutes just to unlock the door. Three times now, three times the mayor had treated him unjustly and humiliated him. The first time he had borne it because he had been in no fit state to do anything else. The second time he had borne it because he was obliged to, as the mayor's inferior. But this time, he decided, he could stand it no longer. Something had to be done!.  
Slamming the door behind him he strode over to his desk and retrieved a small leather-bound notebook from one of the drawers. Laboriously he began to copy its contents onto sheet after sheet of paper, his quill making a noise akin to the squeak of grinding teeth. . As he addressed the envelope - toM Georges Chabouillet - a horrid sort of tight-jawed calm descended over him, the calm of one who just doesn't give a damn any more. Propriety, rank, his job, Cosette - none of that mattered any more. All that mattered at that moment was the contents of the letter. Javert gave the most disturbing of grins:  
"The fat's really in the fore now, Jean Valjean!" he muttered.  
Yes, Javert reflected, he would cheerfully give Lucifer his soul, just to see the Mayor' face when then put an iron collar round his neck


End file.
